Winter wears grass and soft leaves
in the desert.
Green enough to break your heart
though that’s not the intent.
The sky remembers wet and blue
in unequal measure,
close enough to touch, but improbable
like a child’s painting.
For now, it is enough, with the mountains
and the sea conspiring
quietly.
Unlike winter, it is their purpose
to break the heart,
to save it.

It is enough.